


every minute, every hour, every day

by spidermanhomecomeme



Series: Spideychelle Song Fics [5]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Peter Parker is a thot, Song Lyrics, Song: I Believe in a Thing Called Love (The Darkness), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, closet makeouts, some drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feelMy heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheelTouching you, touching meTouching you, God, you're touching me
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Song Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930429
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52
Collections: The Spideychelle Shuffle





	every minute, every hour, every day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForASecondThereWedWon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/gifts).



It’s unclear how the two of them ended up here, clawing at each other like hormonal teenagers in some random closet at some random house party—Peter’s vaguely sure the host is a friend of Ned’s, but he could be wrong—Michelle’s lips impossibly soft against his own, one of her hands gripping his shirt, the other tangled in his hair. There’s a wire hanger poking into the back of his head each time he moves, sometimes getting caught in the neck of his shirt, and there are a few times where he trips over mismatched shoes and some fallen sweaters, but he honestly couldn’t give any less fucks than he’s already giving. 

Which is zero. 

All he cares about is the fact that his best friend’s ass is quite possibly the best thing his hands have ever had the pleasure of holding. The fact that she tastes like rum and orange juice. The fact the breathy little moans she lets out when he grinds into her sends a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. 

He is truly blessed on this Saturday night.

And because by now, _MJ’s_ hands have wandered down his front, slipping under the hem of his t-shirt, her nails raking across his abs, causing him to choke on a breath as his muscles twitch underneath her touch. His heart pounds in his chest, banging against his ribs with an overexcited fist as he slots one of his thighs between her legs, his hands sliding under her skirt to get a better grip on her backside. 

He groans into the kiss, marveling at how smooth her skin is—and he’s hit with how easy it had been for her to get him so worked up. How all she has to do is look at him and he becomes an absolute mess. All for her. 

And right now, he’d be happy if this was all his life was. Kissing her. Touching her. Feeling her. 

Her lips move to his jaw, nipping and sucking as she trails along his neck, hungrily kissing every inch of skin she can get to. One of her hands on his stomach drifts to his belt, fingers toying with the buckle at an agonizing pace—a contrast to how urgently he’s gripping her—and she smirks against him when he bucks his hips into her hand. 

“Someone’s impatient,” she chuckles breathily, the teasing glint in her eye shooting straight down to the hardness in his jeans as she smashes her lips against his again. 

Yup. He could definitely do this forever. 


End file.
